his time, and Viva put
her head on one side and stared at her with gratified admiration. If
she had asked her mother, she would have looked tired and sighed, and
said, "My dear child! how should _I_ know? Don't ask ridiculous
questions," but Mamzelle Paddy knew better than that.

Her face assumed an expression of radiant satisfaction as she pondered
on that house in Poplar Gardens. Big and grey, with flower boxes in the
windows and little clowns looking out of the nursery windows.
Delightful! She was silent for several minutes, and the supercilious
gentleman took advantage of the pause to examine the party with curious
eyes. The elegant-looking woman was plainly the mother of the little
girls, but who was this, who was scarcely more than a child herself, who
was addressed as "Mamzelle" and spoke with a strong Irish accent? He
stared at her, and Viva discovering his glance turned round with her
back to the ring, and stared back with leisurely enjoyment.

At first her face expressed nothing but curiosity, but gradually her
features became twisted, the lips down drawn, the eyebrows elevated to
an unnatural height, until the beholder realised with horror that she
was experimenting on his own expression, and endeavouring to copy it on
her own small visage. Many a long year had passed since he had known
what it meant to blush, but he blushed then, and hitched round in his
seat to hide his scarlet face from view, while Viva once more turned her
attention to the ring.

The white-skirted lady had disappeared and another was cantering round,
clad in a riding habit and gentleman's hat. The horse was black, and
shone like satin; he pawed the ground with dainty, cat-like tread; the
ring-master followed him as he went, and cracked his whip in encouraging
fashion. Viva planted one foot on Pixie's toe, and jumped up and down
to attract attention.

"Is the gentleman really angry, that he cracks his whip? Does he pitend
to be angry? If he pitends to be angry, why do all the others pitend
that they think he doesn't pitend, but only,--Why does the gentleman
crack his whip?"

"Maybe he hears you talking! I saw him cast his eye upon you," replied
Pixie sagely, and the supercilious gentleman pointed the sentence with a
sigh, and privately resolved to remove his seat at the first
opportunity.

The threat of the whip, however, had the effect of quietening Miss Viva
for a good two minutes, and in the meantime Fate sent an unex